Life Lessons
by LoUdMoUtH87
Summary: This is for P.L. Wynter's challenge What if the boys had Max's childhood? Follows the boys through their entire childhood; discontinued.
1. Chapter 1

Dean sat on the floor of his bedroom, humming quietly to himself. The song he hummed was a lullaby his parents used to sing him to sleep with. He took out the box of crayons and began coloring on a sheet of paper. He drew wild, raging orange colors spiraling and twisting all over the paper. The flames of his nightmares.

He didn't understand what had happened that night. But nothing had been the same since. Daddy had taken both him and Sammy away from everything Dean had ever known. He wished he had his toys. Coloring was so boring and what he really wanted to do was play with his hot wheels or go outside with his dad.

The more he thought about it, the more Dean wondered why he couldn't go outside and play with Daddy. He was just in the other room. And Dean was so bored. He climbed to his feet and walked quietly out into the den.

Daddy was lying on the couch again. He'd been doing that a lot lately- Just sitting on the couch, mumbling to himself, and only getting up to get another drink out of the fridge. Dean hadn't even gone to preschool in a while. This made him sad because he liked preschool, even if the teacher wasn't as nice as Mommy.

Mommy. Dean couldn't find her. Daddy said something about her being dead, dying in the fire that had burned down their house and most of Dean's toys. Dean missed Mommy. Ever since the fire, Daddy had laid on that couch. Dean was getting bored. He missed how Daddy used to play with him. Dean had been learning how to play football and Daddy would teach him every day. They didn't play football anymore.

"Daddy?" Dean whispered. Daddy didn't move. Maybe he didn't hear him?

"Daddy." He said again, a little louder this time. Daddy looked over at him.

"What do you want, Dean?" Daddy's voice was so quiet and… cold. It scared the four year old. Daddy had never talked like this. At least not to Dean. Daddy always spoke nicely to Dean, always sounding cheerful towards his son.

"You-you wan-wanna play f-f-foot-football?" Dean asked quietly, looking down at the ground. He didn't see Daddy's scowl.

"Not now. Go play in your room." Daddy replied, taking another sip of his drink and closing his eyes.

"But I'm boooored." Dean explained.

"Then play with your toys. That's why they're there." Daddy ordered, almost to the point of yelling with his agitation with the child. But Dean didn't understand that his father just wanted some time to drink his problems away.

"But Daddy! You promised to teach me…" Dean trailed off as Daddy got up and walked over to him. Next thing Dean felt was sharp pain across his face. The pain startled the young boy, and soon he started to yell and cry.

"Shut up and go to your room." Dean continued to cry. Daddy grabbed his shoulder roughly and shook him hard. "Shut up!"

"Dad-Daddy! You-you're h-h-hurting me!" Dean sobbed. Suddenly Daddy let go, as if startled by his own actions.

"Get to bed." Daddy whispered and Dean ran to his room as fast as his little legs could take him.

When he got to his room, which he had to share with Sammy, since they were staying with one of Daddy's friends, Dean curled up in a ball on his bed. He clung to his pillow and let tears roll down his cheeks. He tried to hum his lullaby but it was broken by his sobs.

'Daddy's gone crazy…' Dean realized. He really missed Mommy.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean sat his younger brother down on the floor, making sure he was listening intently. "Okay Sammy. I got to go to school now."

Sammy pouted at him. "Don't leave Dean!"

"I have to Sammy. You know that. But next year you can come with me." He reassured the toddler. Sammy still looked sad.

"I'll be home soon, I promise." Sammy nodded, but looked down at the dirty, shaggy carpet. Dean caught sight of a fat tear rolling down his chubby cheeks.

"Hey," Dean lifted Sammy's chin so he was looking at him. "What are you afraid of Sammy? Dad won't hurt you. No one will hurt you. I'm always going to be here."

"But you're going to be in school."

"And you're going to keep this door locked, so no one can come in while I'm gone, right? Sammy, what do you do if someone knocks on the door?"

"Don't open it."

"What if Dad knocks?"

"Keep it shut and hide." The toddler repeated the well-versed lines. He knew what he was supposed to do.

"You'll be safe, little brother. I will always keep you safe." Dean told him. He gave the five year old a hug before he walked out, locking the door behind him.

He hid the key to the door in oven drawer, knowing his father rarely used it. There was nothing else in there with it, so Dean threw it towards the back of the drawer so the key would be out of sight even if his father did open the drawer.

John was still sleeping as Dean snuck out and raced his way to school. He had spent too long talking to Sammy and would be late if he did not hurry now.

Sammy desperately wished that Dean didn't have to go to school. He was so bored at home all day by himself. He couldn't wait to start Kindergarten next year, because then he'd get to go to school with his big brother instead of staying home locked in a room all day.

Ever since that time Dad got really mad at Sammy and hurt him while Dean was at school, Dean made sure that Sam stayed in his room with the door locked while the older boy was at school. Dean promised that if Sammy kept the door locked and stayed in the room all day, then Dad wouldn't hurt him.

Dad was scary. He got really angry really fast. He was always either drinking out of a brown paper bag (though Sammy wondered how he drank anything out of a paper bag because Sammy tried to do that with water and the water just leaked all over the floor, creating a big mess) or hunting. Sammy wasn't sure what Dad hunted, he just knew that whatever he did hunt was probably afraid of him because Dad always shot them with a gun and they would scream.

Sammy felt bad for the creatures that Dad hunted. When they screamed after being shot, they sounded like they were in pain, like Sammy was that time Dad broke his wrist.

Sammy was interrupted from his thoughts when the doorknob jiggled. Someone was trying to get in. The five year old inched himself as far away from the door as he could.

"Sam? Sam, you better open this door right now before I knock it down!" His father's threatening voice was heard from the other side of the door. Sammy was tempted to open the door for his father before the man got any angrier, but he remembered Dean's words.

"Don't open the door for ANYONE, Sammy. Keep it locked at all times." Sammy always took his brother's words to heart, because Dean knew everything in the whole wide world.

"SAM!" Sammy jumped slightly at his father's angry voice, but kept the door locked and curled up in a corner of the room.

"Hide!" Dean's instructions rung through his head and Sam dashed around the room to find a hiding spot. He decided to hide under the bed – his father at least would be too big to chase him there.

'He can't get me. The door is locked. He can't get me. Dean said so.' He reminded himself. Soon the pounding on the door stopped and Sammy let out a sigh of relief. Dean was always right.

Sammy had just crawled out of his hiding spot and started coloring on a plain sheet of white paper, when he heard Daddy back at the door.

"Oh Sammy!" Daddy called out, the sudden cheerfulness in his voice scaring Sammy even more than the anger had.

'He can't get in.' He reminded himself. 'The door is locked. He can't get in. Dean said so.' He ran over to the bed and began to scoot himself under.

Before Sammy was fully hidden, however, there was a clinking sound and the doorknob turned. The five year old froze in horror and fear as his Dad walked into the room, holding a key.

"Now why did you lock me out, Sammy?" It wasn't a question and Sam knew it. Even though Daddy didn't really sound very angry yet, Sam knew he was pissed.

…

Dean ran home from his elementary school. He knew Sam got bored when he was locked in that room without much of anything to do. Dean had used some money he had found on the street to buy his baby brother a coloring book and hope the kid wouldn't get too bored.

As soon as he set foot in the apartment they were staying at, Dean knew something was wrong. His dad was home, but he wasn't in the kitchen or the living room. Dean hoped to God that John was in his own bedroom and that he would find Sammy locked in his bedroom, happily coloring while he waited for Dean to get home.

No such luck. The door that was normally kept locked during the day was wide open and Dean sprinted in to find his baby brother on the floor, curled in a ball and sobbing. Dad was nowhere in sight.

"Sammy! Sammy, what happened?" Dean skidded to a halt in front of the younger boy and immediately began checking his brother for injuries. His back was bruised, though there didn't seem to be any spinal damage (Thank God) and he had bruises on his face.

"D-Dean!" Sammy hugged his brother tightly. "D-d-daddy was REALLY mad!"

"What was he mad about, Sammy? C'mon, buddy, tell me what happened."

"I-I was colorin', and D-Dad wanted to come in, but I wouldn't let him, cause you told me not to let him in, but he-he got a key, and uh, he-he opened the door, and he was really mad at me cause I had locked him out!" He dug his head into the older boy's shirt. "Dean, it was so scary!"

"It's okay, Sammy. Next time, I'll just take the key to school with me, okay? Now let's help your bruises." Sammy whimpered and gave him a soft "Okay," before following his older brother to the bathroom.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean- Age 13

Sammy- Age 9

Sam looked at the house. It was old. Decrepit. Dilapidated. He shuddered at the thought of walking into it. He trailed in behind Dean. Their father headed toward the back, to the kitchen area.

"Dude, look at this fireplace!" Dean crowed. The fireplace was very old – from a time back before most houses had heating. It was big enough that Sam could walk in without ducking his head. "Wow." Dean stared in awe.

Sam caught sight of a beautiful staircase covered with decades worth of dust. The design was beautiful despite its fragility. He headed over to the staircase. He was within feet of the weak wooden stairs when the wood floor beneath his feet gave away and he felt himself fall into the black hole. His flashlight landed next to him, blinking rapidly a few times, but didn't go out.

Sam couldn't see through the blinding pain in his leg. He couldn't move it at all and was pretty damn sure he couldn't walk. He heard rapid footfalls from above as Dean and Dad ran to the hole above.

"Sammy, are you all right?" He heard Dean, who sounded slightly panicky, call from above.

"Uh, I think I broke my leg." Sam yelled back. "But I did find where our friends have been hiding…"

"You found the bones?" His father called out, for clarification. Sam rolled his eyes. What else would it mean?

"Yes sir." He answered.

"Good Job!" Sam soaked in the rare praise like a dried out sponge soaks up water. Sam heard footsteps as his father and brother searched for some stairs leading down to the basement.

Suddenly, they were right in the room with him.

"Oh my god, Dad, look at Sammy's leg. We gotta get him to a hospital!"

John looked over at his youngest. "Can you stand, Sam?" Sam shook his head no. John nodded in understanding. "We'll take care of it as soon as we clean this place up."

Dean stared at his father incredulously. "Dad! He just fell from about twenty feet up. He probably has more damage than just a broken leg! We need to get him to a hospital fast!"

John sighed. "And we will. As soon as we finish up here." His tone spoke of finality, but Dean wasn't done.

"So you'd rather burn bones than save your child's life. What kind of father are you?"

John turned and glared at Dean.

"Do you have something to say to me Dean?" He asked, rage burning in his eyes. Dean rolled his own eyes.

"I don't know. Why don't you have some Tequila? Maybe we could talk then, huh?" John grabbed a hold on Dean's collar and shook the thirteen yr old hard.

"Don't you ever talk like that to me again. You hear me?" Dean didn't reply. John gave his son another hard shake and dropped him unceremoniously to the floor.

Sam wasn't sure what Dean was thinking with his next move- he probably wasn't thinking at all- but Dean suddenly stuck his foot out and kicked his father in the shin.

John turned around to face his son slowly. There was a moment of tranquility before the storm erupted. John grabbed Dean by his shirt, pinned him against the wall and began punching the boy in the stomach repeatedly. Dean was in pain, but he fought back- something he had never dared to do before. Dean got in a few good kicks and punches before his father knocked him out.

It was the first time John had ever hit him while he was sober. Sam was very scared. Sure, he had always felt a little scared around his father, but he never expected his father to be so violent without and alcohol induced stupor. Before, Sam could just ride the beatings off as what the alcohol did to his father. But now, Sam knew, it wasn't the alcohol that made his father beat him- it was his father that made his father beat him.

"That'll teach him some respect." John muttered, glaring at Dean's limp form and showing no remorse for his actions. Sam felt his hatred of the man increase ten fold.

After burning the bones in the cellar, John took Sam to the Hospital. By the time they reached the place, Dean was awake again, though very grumpy and un-talkative since his fight with Dad.

They managed to get Sam's leg patched up and avoid any questions from Social Services at the hospital. Dean and Sam knew better than to tell the social services what John did to them. They knew that they would most likely end up separated in foster homes with people they had never met. Neither of them wanted that. As much pain as the brothers had to go through, it was easier since they had each other.

Dean cursed himself for provoking his father. He had been trying to help his little brother, but being rendered unconscious had done absolutely nothing to help the kid. Dean hated himself for putting Sammy through that even. The kid was already traumatized by their life enough already – he didn't need Dean intentionally calling attention to himself and abandoning him in Dean's own quest for rebellion. They couldn't afford it. Dean couldn't afford fighting with John if he could avoid it. He couldn't afford to leave his kid brother alone with that man while he was knocked out. He cursed himself again, feeling a sense of self-loathing envelop his mind the more he thought about what he did. He promised it would never happen again. He would never abandon his little brother like that ever again. He had to protect him.

Dean didn't fight back against his father since that night; not unless it was to draw attention to himself in order to protect Sammy. He merely did as his father said without questions. He knew the price of rebellion was too high for him.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean clapped for his little brother happily as Sammy blew out the candles. Dad hadn't let Sammy have a real birthday party with all his friends from school, but Dean was doing his best to make this day as special as he could for his little brother.

"Wow, Sammy. And now you're twelve – that peaceful time where you go from being the cute, innocent Sammy that I know and love, to a hormonal teenage bomb that's ready to blow up in my face at any second. Good thing I can get you down on the ground in two seconds." Dean laughed. Sam just eyed his older brother confusedly before rolling his eyes and ignoring the dumbass.

At least half the cake was gone by the time Dad got home half an hour later (Dean ate most of it). Sam wasn't sure if his father remembered that it was his birthday, or if he just saw the cake and was reminded, but John surprised him by wishing him a Happy Birthday.

Dad rarely remembered birthdays. It was normal when he didn't buy the boys gifts of even eat the cake that was usually clumsily made by one of the brothers, though neither of them had much experience in cooking (Dean even burned down one of the houses, which pissed John off royally. Dean was sore for three weeks afterwards).

But now, John seemed to remember as he pulled something out of his coat. It wasn't wrapped or anything, but it didn't matter to Sam. He was amazed at the fact that that he was receiving anything from someone other than Dean.

"Thanks Dad." He said softly. Dean stood behind him, staring at his father suspiciously. In Sam's hands was a book titled The Da Vinci Code. It was a bit of a higher level than Sam was used to reading, but the boy always loved to read and much appreciated the gift.

Dad smiled at Sammy before moving past him to the cake and taking a piece for himself. "This is good! Where did you get it?"

"Dean made it. He always makes my cake on my birthday." Sam informed his father, still watching the man closely. John just nodded in acknowledgment.

"OK, Sammy, you stay in here and I'll be right back." Dean told his brother before dashing down the hall. When he came back, the older boy held 2 small wrapped gifts. He handed them to his brother. "Happy Birthday kiddo." Sam scowled at the nickname but didn't say anything.

Dean got Sam Sleepy Hollow and American Pie. Sam looked up at his brother. "Uh… Dean, American Pie is your favorite movie." Dean stood up straight.

"No it's not. It's yours." Dean argued. Sam shook his head. The 16 yr old looked at him with disbelief. "I could've sworn…" Sam grinned at his brother and hugged him.

"Thanks Dean. Let's watch Sleepy Hollow tonight." Dean hugged his brother back for a while before pulling away and looking at his little brother in mock-disgust.

"Get off me, freak." He said, jokingly. John silently watched his sons joke around from his spot at the table. They grew up so fast. And the looks they gave him when they realized that John had gotten Sammy a book… John shuddered. He wished that he could just start over with his sons from the day Mary died. He wished he could take away their pain. The pain that he caused.

John looked down at his plate and found he couldn't eat the rest of the cake. He threw the last bit of his piece in the garbage and sat on the armchair in the den to watch the movie with his sons just this once.

…

Dean got up from his bed in the middle of the night feeling sneaky. A birthday past deserves a birthday prank… he snickered to himself quietly as he poured the Nair into the shampoo bottle. After the entire bottle was used up, Dean snuck back to bed.

…

"WHAT THE HELL?!"

Dean nearly spit out his cereal when he heard his brother's yell. He went on pretending nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. It took longer for Sam to storm out of the bathroom and chew out Dean than he had expected. But when he did it made Dean spit out his cereal for real.

He couldn't help it. The laughter was so overwhelming it was hard to control anything he did. Sam's head wasn't entirely bald, like he'd expected after reading about Nair's hair removal system. No. It was worse.

He had bald patches spotted throughout his hair. Hair was still falling out. Loose hair that had come off his head already was still draped along his body where he hadn't taken the time to wash it off yet in his panic.

Dean tried to cut the laughter down a little to assume the role of the innocent. "What," he gasped, fighting off more chuckles. It helped if he looked at the floor rather than his little brother. "What happened to you?" He faltered near the end, breaking into chuckles.

"What did you do to my shampoo?!" The distress in the statement made Dean fight harder against the chortles. He took a second to calm himself down again, still staring at the floor.

"What was wrong with your shampoo, Sammy?" He asked, feigning innocence the best he could.

"Don't act like you don't know! I went to wash my hair but the shampoo felt weird and my scalp burned! It obviously wasn't shampoo, was it Dean?" He glared at Dean as if to make a point.

Dean couldn't keep up the act any longer. He guffawed at his brother and his bald patchy head. Sam only glared at him. "Awww, lighten up Sammy! It's just a little birthday prank!" He caught Sammy in a headlock and gave him a noogie.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean- 16

Sammy-12

…

They were so close. John knew they were zoning in on the creature that had taken Mary away from him. He knew it. There had been many reports in the area of fires in which the lives of many women had been taken. All of them had at least one child.

John walked into the kitchen. Sam was doing his English essay and Dean was cleaning the guns. "Get those guns loaded in the truck," John told his sons.

"Why?" Sam asked. John glared at the twelve year old.

"We're going hunting tonight. And you better be ready."

"Dad!" Sam complained. "I need to get this English essay done. It's due on Monday!"

"I don't give a shit when your essay is due, Sam. You're going." His tone spoke only of finality. He could see out of the corner of his eye that Dean was trying to tell his younger brother to shut up. Smart kid. Too bad Sam doesn't listen to him…

"Dad-" Sam's protest was cut of as John carelessly backhanded him. Dean was on his feet in an instant.

John pointed a finger at his youngest, who was lying on the floor with a hand up to his face where his father had hit him. "You're going." John repeated before leaving the room. Sam just glared after him.

Dean rushed over to his brother, helping the younger boy off the floor. "You're a fucking moron, you know that?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "This is just so stupid, you know? I hate hunting. I wish we could live like normal people. Normal parents care about whether kids do their homework or not you know."

"Since when was anything about our family normal?" Dean snorted.

Sammy sighed. "Never."

"Oh, c'mon Sammy, don't be like that. Hunting is not as bad as you make it out to be."

"You only say that cause _you_ like it!" Sam accused. Dean grinned.

"So?"

…

Sam hated this. He hated hunting; he hated hunting with his father. He hated screwing up, and grew very self-conscious of his actions around the man. If he screwed up even slightly, not only would his father beat the shit out of him, but they also ran the risk of getting in a hunting accident. Sam knew the risk of letting your guard down.

Dad was sure this was the demon that killed Mom. It fit all the requirements: It targeted women – mothers – and all had died in fires.

They were on the stakeout. There had been 3 deaths on this block, all within 12 houses of each other. They had been there all day and as dusk began to creep upon them the boys grew tired and hungry. John refused to allow them to sleep. They played card games until John got annoyed and snapped at them to pay attention to the stakeout. At nearly 12 in the morning Dean saw something move in the shadows.

"Dad, I just saw something!" John jumped slightly and looked around quickly.

"Where?!" He was suddenly very attentive and energized.

"Over there. By the side of that white house." Dean pointed. John nodded and took out the holy water.

"Let's go boys. Stay in the shadows and keep _quiet_!"

John traveled the most direct path toward the house while Dean came in from the left and Sam came in from the right, hoping to corner the demon. John got there first, but Dean and Sam could hear his yelling before they even made it to the scene.

Dean got there second, followed not long after by Sam. They both stared at the scene unfolding before them with shock. Dad was towering over a teenage boy, maybe about 18 or 19 years in age, who was drenched with water but evidently no more harmed than that. Yet, at least. It wasn't long before John, in a rage of discovering the arsonist, was on top of the youngster, fists flailing. Dean's eyes grew wide as saucers as he debated what to do. If he let his father continue with his outrage, he would surely kill the kid. But what would be the consequences of trying to intervene?

He quickly decided that a beating wouldn't be as bad as having to bury the body of this unknown boy. He grabbed Sam by the shoulder and whispered in his ear.

"I'm going to try to stop him. I don't want you getting in the way. Go back to the truck now."

"But Dean-" Sam protested, but Dean shook his head firmly. Sam knew he wouldn't be allowed to stay. Dean would let Dad kill this guy before he allowed that.

So Sam walked back to the truck quickly, throwing glances over his shoulder every couple steps, trying to see what was going on. It was too dark to see anything though. Sam cursed himself for letting Dean send him back to the truck, as if he were a child. He wasn't a child. Twelve years old – He was nearly a man!

He sat in the truck for what seemed like forever before John and Dean emerged from the darkness. Dean looked pretty messed up, but Sam was thankful to see that it didn't seem like too much actual damage. It didn't look pretty, but Dean wouldn't require a hospital trip of anything. John looked… pissed. Dean made Sam sit in the window seat and took the middle for himself, making sure to separate his father and his brother as best he could in the cramped truck cabin. John climbed in as well and without saying a word, took off.

The truck was silent and the tension was high as the Winchesters drove east. Sam had no idea where they were going, but obviously John did. The man hadn't said a word since they left Stockton. It was scary.

After driving for 2 days, the truck finally pulled in front of a nice, white house. Dean was looking around at the scenery. He was sure he'd been here before…

"Wait here." John told his sons before he got out of the truck and knocked on the door. A short, black lady answered the door, gave John a smile, and ushered the man in.

"You have any idea where we are?" Sam asked his brother. Dean shook his head.

"Just Kansas." Dean replied. Sam looked at him.

"Why would Dad take us to Kansas? He hates Kansas." It was true. John rarely took hunting jobs that had him drive through the state. There were too many emotional ties there.

Dean shrugged. He was staring at the house. "I wonder what he's doing in there."

Sam looked up too. "Probably getting information so he can plan another hunting trip. He really wants to find that demon."

"Can't blame him for that. But if he's getting information from her, what could she possibly know?" He really wanted to go look in the house, but the shades were pulled and he could see no way in.

Sam didn't seem as interested. "Whatever it is, he's probably going to be a while. Wanna play cards, Dean?"

About an hour later, just as Dean was suggesting they get out and go find a place to eat (which in the end probably would've been a bad idea, being as the brothers didn't even know where they were), John came rushing out of the house.

And he looked pissed.

The lady didn't come out with him. In fact, they didn't see her again. John stomped over to where he parked the truck and yanked the passenger door open. He grabbed a hold of Sam by his arm and wrenched him out of the vehicle. Dean watched with worried eyes and slow tactics as John shoved Sam on the ground and kicked him.

"YOU! IT'S YOUR FAULT! YOU SHOULD'VE DIED INSTEAD!" Their father seemed to be on the edge of a complete mental breakdown. The tears that he'd always damned his sons for having were now rolling down his cheeks leaving moist streaks lining the older man's face.

Dean felt frozen. He couldn't move his body to help his brother, much too stunned by his father's words and mental state. He finally managed to gain some control over his limbs and leapt into action. He pulled John off of his baby brother, earning a few punches in the chest himself, and managed to get the man far enough away from his brother before John just fell on the ground and sobbed into his arms, obviously letting out all the built up emotional stress since the arsonist.

Dean left his father's side to head over to his brother. Sam had his eyes tightly shut, with his arms around his stomach and his knees pulled up to his chest, being the best defensive position he could manage in his situation.

Sam looked up at Dean meekly. "It was my fault?" Dean's eyes widened at his brother's words. Both of them had known what their father was talking about when he said that. How could they not know?

"No." Dean reassured him. "It's not your fault Sammy." Both brothers chanced a look over at John, who was still sobbing uncontrollably. "It's not your fault Sammy." Dean repeated.


	6. Chapter 6

Sam couldn't help but cry. He desperately tried to hide his tears from the man sitting beside him, knowing how John reacted towards crying. He'd taught both his sons not to cry at a very young age. Sam couldn't remember the last time he cried, but could pinpoint it to somewhere near the age of seven. And now the fourteen yr old couldn't stop the crystalline tears running down his cheeks.

John glanced at him and was about to turn away until he caught sight of the moist tears streaking down his youngest son's face. John grabbed a hold of Sam's chin roughly and examined the boy's face.

"Stop crying. There is absolutely no reason for you to be doing so." John ordered. Sam hastily tried to wipe the tears away.

He didn't really know why he was crying in the first place. Maybe it was just the thought that Dean was now 18 and out of school. Sam was afraid his older brother would get away from his family and his abusive father as fast as he could, leaving Sam alone with the man. And that scared Sam the most. The thought of being left alone with his father for the next few years. The idea of being without his brother. It would be like half of Sam himself had left.

But on the other hand, Sam knew he was being selfish. It was selfish of him to want Dean to stay. Dean staying would mean that Dean would still have to endure the beatings, and that was something Sam didn't want. No, it would be very selfish of him to ask Dean to stay.

After the ceremony, John and Sam found Dean out in the hall, clutching his diploma to his chest and looking up to the sky, mouthing what seemed to be the words "Freedom". Sam looked down at the floor.

"And you said I would never get a diploma, huh, Sammy. Remember that?" Dean teased, waving the paper in front of his brother's downcast face. When Sam didn't reply, Dean grew worried. He looked at his father for answers, but John didn't reveal anything.

"We should get going." John suggested, his voice stony, and they headed out of the building.

Sam and Dean let their father walk slightly ahead of them, while they walked side by side.

"What's the matter, Sammy?" Dean asked with a sigh. Sam looked up at him.

"What makes you think something is wrong?" Dean stared at him incredulously. How could he not know that something was wrong?

"Uh, maybe it's cause you haven't said a word all night. Hmmmm, or maybe it's because you won't look at me?" As soon as Dean said that, Sam looked up at his brother. Dean narrowed his eyes. "Or maybe it's because you've been crying…" He added, noticing that his brother's eyes were a little puffy (just a little) and his eyes were still glassy.

"It's nothing." Sam reassured him. 'Don't be selfish, Sam,' the boy reminded himself. His brother scoffed at him.

"Okay, yeah it's nothing. Just like that time that you broke your leg it was nothing, or when the kids at school were picking on you was nothing, or-"

"Dean. Please."

"No, Sam. You know that I'm going to find out what is wrong." Sam didn't say anything, just got into the truck with his father. Dean rolled his eyes and did the same. The ride home was silent, and most of the evening was, with only a few lame jokes from Dean, trying to break the unbearable silence.

Later that night, after John had gone to bed, Dean and Sam lie in their beds, both of them unable to sleep. Sam couldn't sleep because he was worried that Dean would leave him alone with John, and Dean unable to sleep because he was stressed out over what had his baby brother so worked up. The damn kid hadn't cried since he was eight!

"Dean? Are you awake?" Dean rolled over on his side so he could face his little brother, even though it was too dark to see the fourteen yr old.

"Yeah. What's up Sammy?"

There was a pause on the other side of the room as Sam stumbled over what to say. "Well, uh, you see, I was wondering…" Dean waited but Sam didn't continue.

"Spit it out Sam!"

"What are you going to do now that you're out of high school?" Sam asked. Dean stared at him through the darkness. 'Where did that come from?' he wondered.

"What do you mean Sammy?"

Sam struggled to come up the words to explain it to his brother. "Well, are you going to college?" Sam asked, tentatively.

Dean snorted. "Yeah right. Like that'll happen. I just got out of school. I'm not in a hurry to get back in one, bro."

"Are you going to move out then."

"Why the hell would I do that?"

"Because. Because you can. You can get away from Dad. You can get away from hunting. You can-" Sam cut himself off. He didn't want to think about how his brother finally had the chance to get away from him. He didn't want to think about Dean leaving.

"Sam. I'm not leaving. There is no way in hell that you're getting rid of me that easily. I've lived with Dad my whole life; I can put up with him for a few more years. I'm not going to allow you to be alone with him. And I like hunting. It takes away all my stress. I'm not leaving." Dean's tone spoke of finality. Sam didn't say anything.

"Is this what was bugging you at graduation? Did you think I would leave you Sam?" Dean asked. Again, Sam remained quiet.

"Answer me, damn it." Sam involuntarily jumped slightly. Dean sounded frustrated. He sounded like their father. He immediately gave himself a mental kick in the shin and cursed himself for ever comparing Dean to that bastard.

"Sammy, we're family. And families stick together. Always. I'm not going anywhere." Sam smiled at his brother in through the darkness, even though Dean couldn't see it.

"Thanks, Dean." Sam whispered before allowing himself to fall into worry-free sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

"Wow. I can't believe they gave you a license. Tell you what, little brother, every time you decide to go for a drive, you make sure I know, so I can make sure I'm not on the road then." Dean joked as he and Sam walked out of the building.

Sam grinned. "Yeah, you're right, I'm probably a terrible driver. I mean, you are the one who taught me…"

"Oh! I see how it's going to be!" Dean replied.

"You do, do you?" Sam questioned. Dean just gave him a confused look.

"What the fuck?" The older brother asked. Sam grinned but didn't say anything else. "Oh well, what do you say to swinging by the Outback to celebrate."

"Can I drive?"

"HELL NO! There's no way I'm letting you near the driver's seat of my car!"

"Sure, but you let me drive it when I was just learning how to drive."

"…Shut the fuck up." It wasn't said cruelly, Dean just ran out of words to say to his brother.

After ordering 3 steaks and a rack of ribs at the Outback (1 steak for Sam, the rest for Dean, much thanks to one Mr. Charles Harbinger's credit card), the brothers headed home, very full.

First thing the two noticed when they pulled in the driveway was that their Dad was home. He was supposed to be on a hunt in Rochester, so the brothers were rather confused when they saw John's truck in the driveway.

Dean entered the house first. They were staying at a small residence, with only one story and few windows, making the inside rather dark anyway. There were only two bedrooms, so John was in one room, Dean took the other, and Sam slept on a couch in the den (much to Dean's annoyance- Sammy was much safer in a bedroom then he was in the den).

The lights in the den were off, and as they made their way through the house towards the kitchen, Sam managed to trip over the coffee table. Curse his long legs…

The noise from the fall was loud and the coffee table actually fell over with Sam. A light went on in the kitchen.

"Oh shit." Dean muttered under his breath as he hurried to help Sam up before John could come charging in.

The lights in the den suddenly flicked on and both Winchesters shielded their eyes from the sudden brightness. Dean whirled around to see his father standing in the doorway to the kitchen.

"Where the hell have you two been?" John yelled. He was definitely pissed.

"We just caught a bite to eat, Dad." Sam tried to explain, but John didn't hear him through his drunken stupor.

"You think that just because I leave on a hunt, that you two can do whatever the hell you want?" The oldest Winchester strode over to his sons. Dean instantly moved in front of Sam.

"Dad," Dean started, forcing himself to remain cool, "I just took Sam to get his license and we grabbed a bite to eat. If you could calm down--" Dean was cut off when his father slapped him hard across the face. While Dean had his guard down, his father grabbed him by the collar of his jacket and threw him out of the way.

"Dean!" Sam yelled as his brother hit the floor, with a soft thud, bumping his head against the wall harshly, rendering his older brother unconscious.

John now advanced on his youngest. "So he took you t'get your license, huh? Well? Did you pass?" Sam swallowed his panic and nodded. John scoffed at him.

"Don't lie to me, you filth!" Sam suddenly found himself pinned against the wall with his father clutching his shirt in a vice grip. The man looked like he was about to fall over and put a hand against the wall next to Sam's head to keep himself steady.

"I'm not lying!" The youngest pleaded. He cry was met with a punch to his face, giving Sam a heavy nosebleed, and a knee in his stomach, which would've made him bend over if his father's hand didn't have him pinned to the wall. John threw him on the ground and kicked him in the stomach, making Sam double into himself. The pain was blinding. His father kicked him several more times before John slumped to the floor himself and passed out. Sam struggled to pull himself off the floor, holding one arm across his sore stomach.

Sam passed his father, looking at the man with disgust apparent on his face, before rushing over and kneeling beside his brother's limp form. Sam checked the back of his brother's head first, since it was affected the most in the fall, and panicked when he saw blood on his hand.

Sam quickly raised his brother's head to eye level for closer inspection, but didn't see a bleeding wound. It was then that Sam realized that the blood on his hand was his own, and the boy let out a sigh of relief.

Sam dragged Dean down the hallway to his bedroom with much effort. "Damn it Dean, I knew I shouldn't have let you eat both of those steaks. You're fucking heavy!" Sam grunted. He finally made it to the room at the end of the hall and immediately locked the door. He didn't want his father to come barging in again.

Sam undressed his brother until his older brother was just wearing boxers and his t-shirt, before placing the twenty year old on the bed. Sam would let him rest a little while, but figured that if Dean didn't wake up on his own within the hour, Sam would wake him up. It would be bad if Dean had a concussion.

Really, Dean was the only good thing in Sam's life. He hated his father, especially when the man was drunk, and they moved around too much for Sam to make friends with anybody at school really. The longest they ever stayed in one place was 2 months, and Sam was pretty damn sure that he didn't like staying in one place for 2 months.

_John hated not being able to catch this demon. Fuck the damn thing. He had just had it cornered, and yet it still managed to get away. They had been chasing after it for nearly 2 months now, and every time they'd gotten close, the demon still got away._

_John drowned his frustration at the local bar. "Tequila. Just give me the whole damn bottle." He told the bartender. _

The bartender looked as if he didn't think it was a good idea, but he gave this man the bottle anyway. You know how much you can charge a drunken man for a bottle of Tequila?

_John let the fiery liquid burn his throat as it slid down and relished the feeling as the frustration began to leave him. Thank God for Hard Liquor._

_John stumbled blindly through the dark on his way home. The bartender took away his keys and told him to pick them up in the morning._

_It was late. Very late. And very dark._

_John swayed to his left as he thought he saw movement in the underbrush along the pathway. His immediate thoughts went to the demon that they had been tracking._

_Pulling his gun out of his jeans, John hastily fired his entire round into the woods. There was no more movement. John gave a contented smile before he started to walk again. _

_His entire world swayed. This wasn't normal was it? Had it been like this before he shot into the woods? John found himself unable to remember. It couldn't have been, he would've remembered it._

'_The demon is trying to possess me.' He decided. John fought as hard as he can. When he found he couldn't, he decided to just chase away the demon and sprinted into the woods. He saw it. He was sure he did. Just a little out of his reach… John tripped, falling to the ground with a thud._

_Pulling himself up, John realized he'd lost the demon. Fuck._

_Slowly, the drunken man headed back home, in a furious rage. When he got there, he noticed his youngest son was still awake, apparently working on schoolwork._

"_Do you have any idea how fucking late it is? Why the hell are you still up?" The man didn't even give his son a chance to answer before walking over to the boy and punching him hard across the face._

_Sam let out a cry of pain, but was silenced as John punched him again, in the stomach, enjoying the way it took the rage that had been building up._

_Sam was whimpering. John scowled at the boy and lifted him off the couch by his shirt collar. "Shut up. Shut the fuck up. You don't want to wake anyone up now do you?" John whispered, nodding his head towards the hall, where the bedrooms held a sleeping Dean._

_Sam knew that if Dean heard him that his older brother would immediately come help him out, getting a beating of his own from his dad in the process. Sam didn't want Dean to get hurt just because Sam couldn't take a few punches, so he kept quiet._

_But John's fury still hadn't rested and the older man continued to punch, kick, and slap his son until he finally passed out on the floor. Sam pulled himself off the floor, gathered his schoolbooks and went to his own bedroom, where he nursed his injuries by himself._

The memory left an ache in Sam's heart, and the boy just wanted the pain to go away. He couldn't take it anymore; he was going CRAZY. The memory of the past combined with the beating he had just received consumed him and Sam could see nothing else as he headed to the bathroom

Dean awoke a while later, immediately noticing he was in his bedroom. His bathroom light was on, and Dean pulled himself up. God, he hoped Sammy was okay… he shouldn't have passed out like that. He should've been stronger, and at least remained conscious long enough to protect his baby brother. God knows what that man would do to Sammy when the boy was rendered helpless…

Dean walked over to the bathroom and nudged the door open. What he saw nearly made him pass out again, but Dean clung to consciousness and tried not to throw up. Sammy, innocent, sweet 16-yr-old Sammy, was on the bathroom floor, clutching a razor to his wrist.

"SAM!" Dean yelled. Sam looked up at his brother; his face was streaked with tears and his nose was bleeding. There was a large, purple bruise just starting to form on the left side of his face.

"Dean…I-I didn't-Oh God, Dean, please help me!" Sam cried to his older brother.

Sean immediately sprung into action, taking the razor out of the teenager's hand and grabbing a wet towel to clean up his brother's arms. Sam didn't protest.

Dean sighed. "Suicide isn't going to get you anywhere, Sammy." Sam looked at the tiled floor.

"It'll get me away from him." He muttered. Dean shook his head.

"No it won't. It will get you killed and I don't know what the hell I would do without you." Dean spoke calmly. "Where the hell is he anyway?" His voice sounded much angrier at the last sentence.

"He passed out in the den again. How's your head?"

"Hurts like a mother. God, we need a house with more carpet than wood." Despite the fact that the situation was so inappropriate, Sam couldn't help but smile slightly at his brother. Dean smiled back.

"Sammy, what were you thinking, with all this?" Dean gestured to his brother's arms, which had narrow cuts on them, but were no longer bleeding. Dean went on to inspect the damage done to Sam's face.

Sam shrugged. "I was just thinking about that time back in Corpus Christi, and, I don't know, I got kind of carried away…"

"Yeah, just a little carried away, bro…Just do me a favor and don't do it again."

Sam gave a soft ok. After that, the brothers put the subject behind them and continued to cheer each other up with lame jokes and stupid stories about stupid things.

When Dean finished bandaging Sam, they both decided to get some rest. Sam slept on the floor with the blanket, but Dean kept the bed and his pillow to himself, deeming Sam 'unworthy of the almighty mattress'.


	8. Chapter 8

You couldn't really say that John Winchester hated his sons. On the contrary, he valued his children's lives highly. But that didn't stop him from getting so drunk that he beat the shit out them. And that didn't stop him from losing control every once in a while, and beating them even when he was sober.

And that didn't mean he had to like Sam. Sam had been the reason Mary had died. Right? Right. Even Missouri had said so. But John could never hate his youngest son, as much as he wanted to, because he was also Mary's child.

But John hated the fact that Sam had been reminding him less and less of Mary each day, and reminding him more of himself. As much as being reminded of Mary annoyed him and only made him sad, it was worse that he seemed to be losing the memory of her. Sure, there were times that he wished he couldn't remember her and then would drink until he couldn't, but she was the only woman he had ever loved and he refused to let her memory fade completely. So the fact that Sam was becoming more like him angered John.

John took another sip of his drink, disappointed that it was nearly empty already, even though it had been full this morning. Where was the brat anyway? John glanced at the clock- 10:34. Sam knew he was always to be home by ten. John was getting fed up with the boy's behavior. Getting in the pick-up truck, John drove to the house of one of Sam's friends- Bobby was it? - and got out. There weren't any cars in the driveway, and the man guessed the parents were out of the house.

He rang the doorbell twice before someone finally answered. The door revealed a teenage boy, about Sam's age- maybe a little older. Past the boy in the doorframe, John could see a group of teenagers sitting in the living room and, more importantly, his own son.

"Mr. Winchester! Uh, I thought Sam was spending the night over here…?" Bobby started. John gave the teen a glance before pushing past him and entering the living room. Sam, who had been in the middle of a great game of poker with what was certainly a winning hand, froze when he caught sight of his father and his stomach knotted up.

'What is he doing here? He was supposed to be busy all night!' John had specifically told his sons to keep out of the house tonight, so Sam had gone to spend the night at Bobby's and Dean was out on a hunt. By himself.

"Dad? What are you doing here?" Sam questioned. John's cloudy eyes narrowed and he grabbed his son firmly by his elbow. Everyone else in the room was watching, but John didn't seem to notice.

"What am I doing here? What are you doing here? You were supposed to be home an hour ago!" There was a slight slur to John's speech.

"You told me not to come home tonight. Remember, you said you were having some people-" His father effectively cut him off by grabbing a hold on his shoulders and giving him a hard shake.

"What have I told you about lying?" He backhanded the boy. The other teens in the room gasped.

"I'm swear, I'm telling you the truth! " Sam pleaded, struggling against his father's grip. John only held on tighter.

"Like hell you are! Stop fucking lying!"

Sam looked down at the floor and mumbled something incoherent. John gave his son another harsh shake. "What was that?"

"Sorry sir. It won't happen again." Sam said again, louder this time. The teenager looked up at his father from under his too-long bangs while the older man scowled at him in disgust.

"Yea right." John muttered. The oldest Winchester glanced around the room at Sam's frightened friends. One of the girls was actually crying. John scoffed at her.

"Let's go." He grabbed his son by his forearm and couldn't help but notice how the boy winced at the motion. John's eyes narrowed and he pulled his son's arm out and pulled the sleeve up for a closer inspection. Sam's eyes widened as he realized what his father was about to find out and desperately tried to yank his arm back in vain.

"What the fuck is this?" John yelled as he saw Sam's newly healed scars. Sam didn't respond. "Answer me!" His father ordered.

"Well what does it look like!" Sam snapped, raising his own voice. Uh-oh. He shouldn't have done that. He had more self-control than that. So why the hell did he just snap? And why the hell did he go and yell at his father? Yes, Sam knew he would regret this.

John was silent for a moment, but Sam could practically see the rage shedding off of him in strong currents. Sam took several steps back as his father advanced on him.

Suddenly the room was filled with sounds of the garage door opening. John stopped moving towards his youngest son and turned to Bobby instead, with a questioning look on his face.

"That your parents?" He asked. Bobby looked to dazed to answer, but didn't have to as his parents came in through the garage door a minute later.

Bobby's father paused, taking in the situation in the living room. Apparently his son had some friends over… Marissa was crying, Danielle was comforting her friend, Bobby was standing by the still-open front door, Sam was leaning against the far wall with his head down, and John was in the middle of the room, looking back at him.

"John? I thought Sam was spending the night here?" He unknowingly repeated his son's earlier words.

John shrugged. "Sorry Dan. Change of plans. Sam is needed at home so I came over to get him, I hope you don't mind." The Winchester knew how to lie quite easily.

Dan looked over at the younger Winchester, who was still staring at the floor, with worry. "Are you okay, Sam?" The boy in question looked up.

"Oh yeah, Mr. Miller, I'm fine." Bobby, Marissa, and Danielle all stared at him in shock. Sam silently pleaded for his friends not to say anything. Marissa just started crying again, but Sam let out the breath he didn't know he had been holding when no one ratted him out.

His father also seemed satisfied by the lack of response from the other teens. He strode across the room and grabbed his son by his upper arm and they headed to the door. He paused for a moment to exchange good-byes with the Millers, and Sam took that moment to speak with Bobby, who was now standing right next to him.

"Don't say anything." He whispered softly, so that not even his father could hear him. Bobby gave him an incredulous look.

"Sam! He hurt you! Someone needs to know…" He responded in the same low tone as his friend.

"No. No one needs to know. Promise me you won't tell anyone, Bobby." Bobby looked at him like he was insane. "Bobby! Please." Sam added as his father started to go. Bobby swallowed hard and mentally berated himself before nodding.

"Thanks." Was the last thing Bobby heard before his friend was all but dragged out the front door.

The entire car ride home, John was silent, and that scared Sam more than yelling would have. It was as if John was forming some sort of plan on how to punish his son…

And he was. As soon as they got home, John took out his belt. This was John's idea of structured punishment. Half an hour later Sam found himself stuffed in a dark closet with nothing but his own thoughts.

He wasn't even sure what John had been punishing him for. His father had told him to stay out of the house tonight, because he was having some friends over. Sam dutifully made sure that he could sleep over Bobby's house and obeyed his father. So why did his back sting so much?

He guessed it to be because he had yelled at the man. Surely his father wouldn't give a damn about his scars? Of course not. If he cared about Sam, he wouldn't beat him.

Sam sighed. His back felt like it was on fire. The sixteen-year-old wished, not for the first time, that his father had chosen to 'spare the rod'… and the belt… and the fists…

Sam stopped himself before he could go any further with that thought. He put his head down in his knees, forced to sit with his long legs tucked into his body in the cramped closet. He wished he could fall asleep, but every time he closed his eyes he saw his father's angry face. Must the man torture him even through sleep? Wasn't it enough what he did during the day?

Several hours later, John came back and unlocked the door. Sam briefly wondered why he was back so soon, but found out a few seconds later.

"Get up. You have two minutes to pack."

"What happened?"

"One of your stupid friends called the police. Now hurry up or you won't be allowed to pack at all." Sam swallowed and nodded, dashing upstairs as fast as he could. He was able to get his stuff in record time, seeing as he didn't have too many things to pack anyway, and got all the stuff Dean had left behind as well. Dean had expected to come back here, so he had left at least half of his belongings.

Sam rushed out to the truck and climbed in. His father was already in the drivers seat waiting for him. Neither of them said anything as they headed to the highway.

…

Dean was flying down the road, enjoying his freedom while he still had it. Soon enough, he pulled up to the house his family had been staying at, and froze. There was no sign of his father's truck, only a police car and a gathering crowd. Okay…

Dean got out of the car and joined the crowd. He saw Sam's friend, Bobby, by one of the squad cars, apparently being questioned. This only served to heighten Dean's confusion and worry.

"What happened?" He asked a man standing in the crowd.

"Supposedly some kid called in an abuse case to this address, but the house is empty." Dean's eyebrows furrowed at the answer. He walked over to Bobby just as the officer was leaving.

"Hey Bobby!" The boy jumped slightly and looked at him with uncertainty before recognizing him.

"Hey, your Sam's brother. Hey Officer-" Dean covered his mouth quickly and led him away from the scene.

"Bobby, I don't want any attention drawn over here, but I need you to tell me what happened." Dean spoke calmly, trying to ease his own fears.

"Well, Sam was supposed to sleep over my house tonight, but your dad came over to get him, and he just kinda started pushing him around. Dude, it was scary. And then he pulled up Sam's sleeves and there were all these scars." Bobby ran his fingers on his own forearms as if to illustrate his point.

"Ah man, and you called the fucking cops! Is Sam okay?"

Bobby shrugged. "He was okay when he left."

"Then why did you call the damn police?"

"Your dad hit him! Why wouldn't I?" Dean just walked away from the kid. He was beginning to get a headache…

Unfortunately, a police officer walked over to him. "Are you Dean Winchester?" Dean seriously considered lying, but figured that they'd find out anyway, since his family had been living here long enough for some people to recognize him, damn it all…

"Yes sir."

"Do have any idea of the whereabouts of your brother and father?" Dean shook his head.

…

"Dad, did you call Dean?" Sam barely heard his father mumble "Oh Shit!" under his breath before catching the cell phone that was tossed to him. He immediately dialed Dean's cell.

…

The police officer was about to continue with the interrogation when Dean's cell went off.

"Hello?"

"Dean, it's Sam. Where are you?"

Fuck. The officer was watching him closely, trying to see if one of his 'missing persons' was on the phone. Dean would have to be very careful with what he said.

"Hey man. I'm at my house. The police are here."

"Oh shit. What are they doing?"

"Well, apparently my little brother and my dad are missing. This kid Bobby called them."

"Bobby called? Fuck! (Faintly: Watch your language!) Sorry sir. He promised me he wouldn't say anything! And why are you talking like that?"

"Yeah. The police are right here. Where are you?"

"Oh. Um… I think we're heading north on I-95. Ow! Uh… Hey, Dean, I got to go. Just drive north on 95 and call back later… I guess."

Dean's eyes clouded in worry at his brother's words. "Uh… sure, but, hey, are you all right?" The cop perked his head up and looked at him with suspicion.

"Yeah, I just have to go. (Faintly: Hang up the phone!) Later."

Sam hung up. Dean cursed under his breath, wondering why his father had been so insistent that Sam hang up and worrying that they had run into trouble.

The policeman finished his interrogation with Dean lying through his teeth, and immediately the Winchester jumped into the Impala and got on the interstate highway. It was almost 6am before he found his family staying at a Motel 6 in Waterboro, South Carolina.

The first thing he noticed was Sam's bruising. There were bruises on his face, and when his little brother changed his shirt, Dean noticed bruises on his arms and shoulders, accompanied by welts on his back.

"Dude, you wanna tell me what happened tonight?"

Sam looked up at him with sad eyes. "Not really." Dean scowled at him. That answer did nothing to satisfy his confusion.

They're dad was out trying to find a Wendy's, McDonalds, or anywhere that will give you food at 6 in the morning really.

Silence reigned between the brothers before Sam spoke again, moments later.

"Are you sure it was Bobby who called the cops?"

"Yeah man. I saw him at the house talking to the cops and everything. He even told me that he called them. He said that dad saw your scars?"

Sam looked down. "Yeah. It was weird. He told me to stay out of the house, so I asked Bobby if I could sleepover his place. And then, when I was over there, Dad came barging and got mad at me for being out past curfew. Then he found the scars and got really pissed, but Bobby's parents came home so he couldn't do anything. Man, I asked Bobby to keep his mouth shut, and he promised that he would. Now Dad's even more pissed."

Dean nodded. He felt sorry for his little brother. Their dad already picked on him anyway, blaming him for Mary's death and just about everything else that ever went wrong. Sam received the most beatings, and Dean could just see that his brother was sinking slowly into depression. The suicide attempt was enough to tell him that.

"Sam, are you okay?"

Sam shook his head at his brother. "It just keeps happening Dean, I can't stop it. No matter how hard I try to do what he says, he's still going to hit me, isn't he?" The teen was near tears now. The worst of it was that Dean knew that answer to his brother's question. There were never any right answers with John. The man was a sadist and needed to beat his sons- he couldn't help it. And his children couldn't do anything about it. That thought alone nearly brought Dean to tears himself. But Dean never cried. Never.

…

(a few weeks later)

Sam stared at the clock intensely, watching the second hand make its way around the circle once again. The bell was due to ring in exactly three minutes. How the hell had it gotten so late already? Sam wasn't really paying attention to his Physics teacher's lecture on Quantum Mechanics. He was more focused in on the clock than anything else, silently pleading for the minutes to last longer than he knew they would. All too soon, the bell rang and school was over.

Sam walked home slowly. He tried to prolong his actual arrival at his house as long as he could. Sam got out of school at 2:30, his father usually made sure he was off of work by 3 in order to get ready for any hunts or to do research, but Dean didn't get off of his current day job until nearly 5. Sam found that if he walked home the long way, it would take about an hour to get home, maybe an hour and a half if he walked slowly. Then he'd only have 30 minutes to be stuck with his father as opposed to 2 hours.

Although John often questioned why his son arrived home so late when the school let out so early, Sam really didn't care. He wanted to spend as little time as possible anywhere near the man.

Every day it was the same. He'd come home from school to a drunken father, who seemed to be drinking more with each passing day. They would get in a fight over something stupid, and John would beat the shit out of him. If they couldn't find something to argue over, John would go back to the ever-lasting topic of Sam being responsible for his mother's death. The man just couldn't seem to get over it. When Dean came home from work every day, he'd try to treat his brother's wounds, though he really couldn't do anything for most of the pain except apply some ice to the bruises.

Dean was worried. This was beginning to be an every day occurrence, finding his brother unconscious, or on the brink of unconsciousness. He was amazed that his brother wasn't stuck in a hospital more than he was, considering what the boy went through nearly every day. Whenever he could, Dean took the brunt of his father's anger, but his day job was a necessity at the time being. John spent all the money from his paychecks on either alcohol or gambling, not really considering the fact that he had two sons who needed to eat. But Dean hated the fact that he couldn't be there for his kid brother, always fearing that one of these days his father was going to go from being a hunter to being a murderer.

One night Dean came home to his father gone and his brother in the bathroom. At first, he was worried as his mind flashed back to a scene only a couple of weeks earlier. Dean walked over to the bathroom and nudged the door open. What he saw nearly made him pass out again, but Dean clung to consciousness and tried not to throw up. Sammy, innocent, sweet 16-yr-old Sammy, was on the bathroom floor, clutching a razor to his wrist. Dean opened the bathroom door cautiously. He hoped for the best – that Sam would be fine and would yell at him for walking in on him in the restroom – but he expected the worst – finding Sam with that razor once again clutched in his hand… with his blood once again flowing on the bathroom tile…

Sam didn't look up as his brother entered. He didn't seem to be physically harmed to the point where it was life threatening, and his arms weren't bleeding. Not from where Dean could see anyway.

Dean walked over to his little brother. He carefully placed a gentle hand on his brother's shoulder, surprised when the teen jumped. Sam turned to look at the twenty-one year old and Dean could see the streaks that the tears left running down his cheeks. Immediately his concern heightened.

"What's wrong, Sam?" He asked, searching the adolescent's eyes for answers.

"God, Dean," Sam started as a new wave of fresh tears exploded. Dean felt helpless as he watched his brother visibly breakdown. Sam didn't even try to keep the tears back or hide the truth of his misery from his older brother.

"Why is it that even when I do everything he says, he still finds a reason to get mad? He's still going to be pissed when I come home and he's still going to punish me." Sam cried. Dean's anger and hatred towards his father increased 10 fold as he pulled the broken boy into a tight hug and let the teenager cry into his shoulder.

"Nothing is ever going to be right, is it?"

"Shhh…. Don't say that, Sammy. I will be all right. It will." Sam looked up at his brother. He wished he could believe those words. He really did. But the truth was that he didn't believe it was going to be all right. How could it? It wasn't like he could go anywhere to get away from the man who terrorized him day in and day out. And John wasn't going anywhere. They were stuck with him.

The next afternoon, Dean came home to police cars and immediately jumped to conclusions. His first thought was that John had finally gone over the edge and become a homicidal maniac in all his drunken glamour. But young man forced himself to calm down and think through the possible circumstances as he pulled into the driveway. It could be another Bobby Miller incident. Hopefully.

Dean let out a breath of relief when he caught sight of his younger brother, looking rather good for Sam, who usually looked like shit by the time Dean got home (something that Dean cursed his father a million times over every day for).

"Sam, what happened?" He asked, walking up to the teenager.

"Dad is a drunken idiot who went and had himself arrested for public intoxication. Six weeks in rehab. The cops are still trying to figure out where I'm going." He looked at the ground and mumbled something else.

"What?" Dean leaned in closer in hopes of hearing the solemn adolescent's incoherent speech better.

"They're talking about foster care, Dean." The words were whispered and sent a jolt of fear racing down Dean's spine.

"Hell no!" Dean went off to talk to the cops, eager to get this whole mess taken care of without losing his brother.

It ended up being that Dean and Sam had to go to a hearing in order for Dean to gain temporary custody of his brother. Dean thanked god that the police waited until after his 21st birthday to arrest his father, seeing as that was the legal age for gaining custody of a minor.

Dean let out a breath as they exited the courthouse, and let himself smile. A real smile. It would be six weeks of him and Sam staying in one town without moving around anywhere and without John constantly breathing down there necks with his sickly sweet alcoholic stink. Nope. They had 42 days of freedom.

Dean chanced a glance at his brother. Apparently, Sam realized the great luck in their situation as well, and had a smile that lit up the entire sky. Dean couldn't remember the last time Sam had worn a smile so big. Probably never. Sam had always been rather depressed, even as a kid, which wasn't surprising given their home life.

That night, Dean's high spirits gave him the confidence to make dinner on his own. After all, it was his job to take care of his teenage brother. But when the smoke detector began to go off and his visibility began to thin through the kitchen smog, Dean decided it would probably have been better to just go to Wendy's or Sonic.

"What the hell happened in here?" Sam yelled, coming into the kitchen after being disturbed by the smoke alarm. The younger boy acted quickly, turning the stove off and putting the smoldering pot in the sink under cold running water before opening a window to let the smoke out. He turned to his older brother, silently asking for an explanation for the commotion.

Damn it. How did Sam do that? Dean felt like a guilty child found with his hand stuck in the cookie jar. "Um… I was trying to make dinner." Dean muttered. Sam stared at him for a second and Dean thought the boy hadn't heard him. He was about to repeat himself when Sam burst out in roaring laughter that brought tears to the younger boys eyes.

"What?" Dean looked at him with wide eyes, wondering what was so funny about him trying to cook dinner. Sam merely laughed harder.

"Do you…do you…" Sam tried to speak but couldn't get enough breath in to speak the words through his shots of laughter.

"Spit it out Sammy!" Dean said, though he himself was laughing at his brother's laughter. Apparently it was contagious.

Finally, Sam settled down enough to speak what was on his mind. "Do you remember my 9th birthday?" He had a grin a mile wide, and his jaw was beginning to ache with all the smiling, but he couldn't stop even if he wanted to.

Dean shrugged. "Yeah… I got you The Nightmare Before Christmas and you couldn't sleep for a week afterward." Dean grinned at the memory. Sam's own grin dropped for a moment to glare at his sibling.

"The nightmares weren't 'cause the movie, you jackass. If there was any reason I had nightmares it was because of the damn hunting. But that's not the point. Do you remember what happened when you tried to bake a cake for me?" Sudden realization showed on Dean's face, as he finally understood what his brother was getting at.

"You mean the time I burnt the house down?" Sam nodded and they both grinned slightly.

"So… you were going to try to duplicate the memory?" Sam asked, looking around the kitchen with one eyebrow raised. "What? Did you forget that you couldn't cook?"

"Hey! I used to have to cook for your lazy ass all the time! I made you spaghetti-o's all the time when we were younger." Dean protested in his own defense.

Sam looked at him skeptically. "Yeah, but you burnt them." He reminded. His brother grinned at him sheepishly and merely shrugged his shoulders.

"Whatever. How about we go get some food?" He motioned towards the door. Sam got up.

"As long as I get to drive." Dean snorted.

"You wish."

…

Sam was awakened the next morning to the telephone ringing. The damn thing was too loud for his tastes. The boy looked over at his brother, hoping Dean would get up and get it himself, but Dean didn't even move as the harsh sound of ringer went off again. Dean had always been a heavy sleeper, able to sleep through some of the loudest alarms, whereas Sam, on the other hand, awoke instantly to even the smallest of noises.

"Hello?" He slurred sleepily into the receiver.

"May I speak with Mr. Dean Winchester?" The voice on the other line requested.

"Well, I can try to get him up for you, but I'm not making any promises here. Hold on just a sec." Sam placed the receiver down on the counter for a moment, heading over to his brother.

"Dean?" He tried, "Dean, get your ass up!" Dean didn't even move. Sam sighed and reached down, grabbing a shoe from the floor and threw it at his brother. It missed and slammed against the wall with a loud thud that echoed throughout the room. Again, Dean didn't even flinch at the noise. Sam groaned, picked up the other shoe and tried once again to get his aim right. The sneaker landed smack dab in the middle of his brother's face and the older boy shot up off the couch. He looked around for his attacker but only found Sam, laughing his head off.

Dean scowled at the teen and threw the smelly sneaker back at his brother, who easily dodged the assault. "What the hell?" The angry twenty-one year old yelled at his brother.

Sam took a moment to calm himself down in order to get the words out. "Phone for you." Dean's mouth fell open.

"You woke me up for that?" Sam shrugged. "Man, you are so dead." Dean threatened. Sam ignored him and walked into the kitchen, suddenly hungry now that all thoughts of sleep were gone. He could hear Dean now speaking to the woman on the phone, but didn't care to pay much attention to the conversation.

Being a much better cook than his older brother, Sam made himself a fried egg and put it on one of the store-bought bagels. Thank god they had gone shopping last night and had more to eat than just leftover pizza or sugary cereals. Well, they did have sugary cereals, like Frosted Flakes, Quaker Sugar Puffs, Golden Grahams, and Captain Crunch All Berries, but they were all for Dean, who, much to Sam's disgust, added about a tablespoon of sugar to them after he had poured them in his bowl.

Sam had just sat down to eat his breakfast when Dean came in.

"Hey guess what?" He had a slight smirk on his face. The smile wasn't big enough to be truly amused, but at least this wasn't going to be bad news.

"Hmmm?" Sam asked, his mouth stuffed with bagel and egg.

"Dad has to stay an extra 2 weeks for psychological analysis. Supposedly he had a mental breakdown."

Sam snorted. "He's been having mental breakdowns for years. Maybe they'll finally lock him up in the loony bin."

Dean just shook his head. "I don't know, bro. They're just doing an analysis, so that probably means they're still going to let him go." Sam looked slightly disheartened. He finished his breakfast, obsessively placing his plate in the dishwasher as he did so, before grabbing his backpack and accepting the ride Dean offered. Sure, he was old enough to drive himself, but the only problem was the lack of a VEHICLE, and Dean would rather die then let him drive the Impala. John's pickup was still in the shop for a crash he'd gotten in weeks earlier.

Being a junior in high school, Sam was very much exposed to the Colleges and Careers Program the school offered. Because of this, Sam began to think about what College would be like and what the future might hold if he did go to one. And thus, Sam started to build up his plans for departure. He wasn't stupid. He knew John wasn't going to be gone forever; eventually his father would come home and regain custody of Sam and the family image he currently shared with his brother while the two were living on their own would be shattered.

Sam wanted, no, he NEEDED to escape this fate. He wasn't destined to live with his father his entire life, taking the abuse and joining in on the hunts. He wasn't destined to spend the rest of his life as his father's scapegoat and merely sit in the shadows until John went overboard and killed him or he was killed on one of their many hunting expeditions. Whichever happened first. Either way, it was a feeble demise.


	9. Chapter 9

Dean- 21-22

Sam-17-18

Sam's beginning senior year in this one.

…

(June, End of Junior Year)

"Well, Sam, there are plenty of Pre-Law schools you can choose from. Baylor, Brigham Young, Florida State, Stanford; the list goes on and on. But you really should make a choice soon. Most colleges don't accept applications past July."

"Yeah, I know, Ms. Hughes. But I'm really looking at location too. I want to go somewhere really far away with cheap housing." Sam sighed. He already knew he wanted to go to college, and he excelled in school: his counselor said that he was eligible for many scholarships, and he'd already applied for most of them. But he was having a little trouble deciding where to go.

"Well, all I can do for you is give you these pamphlets," She reached behind her and grabbed an ungodly number of brochures, each to different schools, "and tell you to get back to me before the year ends. You got it?"

Sam sighed again. "Yes ma'am." He took the pamphlets and headed out of the office, not exactly ready to get back to his American History class. After History was Physics, and then he had to go home.

Sam decided he'd as Dean for advice on colleges. He was definitely nervous about confronting his brother on the issue, especially since Dean had given up a chance to go to college to keep his little brother safe, but he wasn't about to make plans for the future without his brother.

Sam didn't mind going home as much anymore, since his father had gotten a job that required him to work late. Sam was home alone for about four hours after school. Dean came home at 6:00, and John arrived at 8:00, if he didn't stop at the bar after work. Unfortunately, the youngest Winchester was left home, bored out of his mind, for most of his free time. He wasn't able to get a job, mainly for lack of transportation and flexibility, but sometimes stopped by the local library for a couple hours on his way home from school.

He was supposed to take the bus, at least, Dean and Dad both thought he did, but he ignored the unwritten rule and walked home nearly every day, unless they were living somewhere where the house was too far from the school, which was usually only in rural towns.

"Hey bro," Dean greeted as he walked in the door at 6:47. His hands were full of grocery bags. "There's still more groceries in the car, do you mind helping me?"

Sam sighed and placed his copy of the book Beowulf down on the table and stood. "How many groceries did you buy if you can't get them all up here in one trip?"

"Well I spent about ¼ of my paycheck on them I can tell you that. It's not like anyone else is going to buy any food." Practically yelled after him as Sam started down the apartment stairs.

When he returned with the groceries, Sam continued the conversation as if he'd never left. "Well, I would help pay for the groceries if I had a job, but that's pretty much impossible isn't it?" He opened the fridge to put the milk in.

Dean shrugged. "It's not like you'd ever have any time to work anyway. You have to go to school during the week and I doubt Dad would let you miss a hunt on the weekend just because you have to WORK."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Whatever."

Dean narrowed his eyes at his younger brother. "Dude, what is wrong with you?"

Sam was quiet for a while. He really did need to talk to Dean, but he wasn't sure how.

Dean scrutinized his brother. The poor kid look distressed. "Sam?" He asked. Sam didn't respond; he seemed to be deep in thought. Dean put his hand on the adolescent's shoulder and Sam looked up at him.

"Okay, what do you want to talk about?" Dean was good at knowing when Sam needed someone to talk to. He knew that the boy tended to bottle things up if he didn't have someone to talk to, and that was probably the most dangerous thing he could do, so it was Dean's job to provide an outlet for his brother.

Sam saw that his brother was giving a chance and he jumped for it. "Well, Dean, you know, I'm turning 18 next year."

"Yeah…"

"And so, legally, I'll be an adult."

"Sam, where is this leading to?" Okay, just because Dean was willing to be Sam's outlet didn't mean he was going to be patient with the teenager.

"I want to go to college."

Dean looked at him, startled. "Oh. I see." Sam watched his brother carefully, and began to think that his brother might be disappointed.

"I'm sorry, Dean. It's just, I NEED to get away from here-"

"No, Sam, it's fine. I completely understand. Do you know what college you want to go to yet?" Sam shook his head.

"Well, then, tell you what – you pick out a place with a ton of hot babes and I might even go with you. We could blow this joint, get a cheap apartment near the school, and split the rent."

Now Sam was surprised. It took him a moment register what his brother was saying, but when it finally sunk in, the boy gave his brother a grin about a mile wide.

"Please tell me you have some colleges in mind though, bro."

Sam took out the brochures Ms. Hughes had given him and handed them over to his brother. Dean did a good job of narrowing down some of his choices by immediately throwing out all the ones that were placed in locations 'without enough hot girls'.

The Winchester brothers spent the rest of their time looking through the rest of the pamphlets, rushing to hide them as they heard John's pickup truck pull into their parking space outside.

The next day at school, Sam returned to Ms. Hughes' office. The woman looked surprised to see him. "Already back, Mr. Winchester?"

"Yes ma'am." Sam responded, politely.

"Have you chosen a school then?"

"Well, I have it down to Brigham Young – Hawaii," He started, grinning as he remembered how Dean reacted when he heard they had a college in Hawaii, "or Stanford University." Apparently California dished out some top-notch babes as well.

"Perhaps you should apply to both of them and that way if you don't get accepted into one of them at least you have a back up. Not that I think you'll have any trouble getting into either of them – you're a smart kid, Samuel, and you're college applications are going to look pretty good despite the fact that you never seem to settle in one place for very long."

Sam blushed at the compliment, not used to getting praised by an adult, and quite unsure how to react.

Fortunately, he didn't have to give a response as Ms. Hughes reached into one of her drawers and took out two papers. "Here are some applications, Sam. How about you go and fill them out now and I'll take care of mailing them to the Schools, okay?"

Sam nodded and did as he was told, quickly filling the forms out and handing them to the counselor, thanking her for her help before he headed back to class.

…

(December, Senior Year)

"Sam! You got some mail!" Dean shouted as he entered the house. "Though how they got it to you is a good question. We tend to be pretty damn hard for the mailman to keep up with, huh, little brother?"

Sam rolled his eyes and snatched the envelope away from his older sibling. He took one look down at the packet and gawked at it. "Oh. My. God."

Dean looked over his shoulder from where he had already planted himself on the couch in front of the crappy barely-functional television set. "What is it?"

"It's from Stanford." Sam quite nearly whispered. Dean's interest instantly perked and he actually hauled himself off the couch to grab the letter back from his brother and stare at it himself.

"Well?" Dean looked over at the teen. "Are you going to open it or just look at it all day?"

Sam didn't move. "What if I got rejected? What if neither of them accept me and we're stuck here with Dad for the rest of our lives?" His breathing became shallow as he started to hyperventilate.

Dean noticed his brother's panic and immediately rushed over to calm him down. "It's okay, Sammy, take deep breaths now." Dean took deep breaths himself and soon Sam began to match his brother's breathing pattern. "That's right, bro, just like that. Now listen: even if both of the colleges reject you, which I'm sure they didn't because they'd have to be pretty damn stupid to do so, but if they did, you're still turning 18 and you're still going to be a legal adult, and we'll still get the hell away from here, okay?"

It took a while, but Sam slowly began to agree with what his brother was saying. Even without school, there was a light at the end of the tunnel. A way out. A path to freedom.

"Yeah. Okay, Dean."

Dean grinned. "Good boy!" Sam glared and Dean merely shrugged.

"How about you open that letter then?"

They both looked back down at the letter. Slowly, Sam turned it over and carefully broke the seal. He took the letter out and read the top line.

_Congratulations_.

He instantly blew a breath of relief and was overwhelmed with the happiness that suddenly flooded him because no rejection letter began with the word 'Congratulations'.

…

(March)

The Winchesters had just moved onto a new gig, over on the east coast, once again. John had been out looking for a job all day, but John had found himself bored, tired, and a little frustrated with all the damn interviews. Dean was still looking for a job of his own, and Sammy was still in school.

John headed over to the local bar and ordered a bottle of Jack Daniels. Whiskey always eased his frustrations. A couple glasses later, John found himself at ease, and headed back home. He wasn't even drunk – maybe a little tipsy, but certainly not drunk.

Back at their new apartment, John was intent on going straight to his bedroom and taking a short catnap before his sons got home, but found himself distracted as he passed the boys' room.

Everything looked normal – Sam's bed was neatly made as always, with his duffle bag already unpacked, while Dean's side was messier and his duffle was sitting in the corner, with everything still in it. That wasn't the strange part. The strange part was something out of place, sitting on top of Sam's neatly made sheets, which usually had nothing on it.

John walked into the room and recognized the object as a piece of paper. Now, usually John would just dismiss this right away, seeing as Sam left schoolwork in all sorts of places, much to his father's annoyance, bur John's curiosity was peaked and he walked over to see what his son had left lying there.

**STANFORD UNIVERSITY**

**To: Samuel Winchester**

**From: John L. Hennessy, President of Stanford University**

**Subject: Your Application to Stanford University**

**Congratulations!**

**We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into Stanford University, upon starting attendance in fall semester of the year 2000. **

**We need to know if you will be able to attend that semester, so please fill out the attached forms before Thursday, June 1, 2000. We need you're final High School transcript by Tuesday, August 1, 2000, along with an automatic admission fee of 200.00 that will take care of any current financial problems we may run into regarding your acceptance at Stanford University.**

**On-campus Housing is not required, though is preferred from our freshman, especially if you plan to attend on a scholarship. Meals for those living on campus are provided by our café, which is open from 5:00 A.M. until 12:00 P.M.**

**Freshman Orientation is on Monday, August 14, 2000, in the Stanford Activities Center.**

**We are looking forward to seeing you this upcoming year!**

**John L. Hennessy**

John took a moment to look at the paper in shock. When the hell had his son applied for a college? Why hadn't he told John? Was he just going to get up and leave?

Suddenly, John was furious. He felt like he was ready to smash a hole in the wall. And he really needed something to take the edge off.

Walking into the small kitchen area, John looked through the fridge. No, a Jack Daniels wasn't going to cut it this time – he needed something stronger. Opening some cabinets, John came up with a full bottle of SKYY vodka, unopened. This would do the trick…

"Did you get a job yet?" Sam asked Dean as soon as he got in the car. Dean was picking Sam up from school today, as he usually did when he wasn't busy working.

Dean shrugged. "I interviewed at an Auto Shop that seems promising. They haven't offered me a job yet, but they said they'd call. How was this school?"

"They're kind of behind. I've already learned all the stuff that we went over in most of my classes. Sad thing was that a lot of the kids still weren't getting it." Dean snorted at that.

"That's just because you're a geek and understand EVERYTHING the first time the teacher explains it." He teased as he pulled up to their apartment residence.

"Just because I'm one of the few kids in class who actually listens in class when the teacher explains the information the first time around does not make me a geek – it makes me attentive." Sam defended himself as he got out of the car.

"Call it what you want; you're still a geek." Dean taunted as they walked up the apartment stairs.

Sam rolled his eyes. "You're so immature, you know that?"

Dean gave the teen his best shit-eating grin as he fumbled with his keys. "I know." He replied as he opened the door.

Both brothers were startled to see their father sitting in the living room, a bottle of vodka in one hand, a piece of paper in the other, and an angry glint in his eye.

But John's voice was calm, slightly slurred, but calm nonetheless. "Samuel."

"Yes sir?" Sam's voice was cautious and weak.

"What is this?" John held the piece of paper up, and turned it around so Sam could see exactly what it was.

Oh shit.

Dean saw the letter and quickly placed himself between his father and his brother. If John wanted to hurt Sam, he'd have to get through Dean first.

"Um… it's a letter from Stanford University, sir."

"Wow, good job. Now let's see if you can answer the next question with such surprising accuracy," John said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, but not yelling yet, which was a good sign. Right? "Why the hell was it sitting on your bed this morning?"

Sam didn't answer, not really knowing what his father was expecting him to say.

Now, his dad was yelling. "ANSWER ME!" Sam flinched. "WHY DO YOU HAVE THIS LETTER, SAMUEL?" John took one advancing step toward his son, and Dean pushed his brother further back.

John's attention was suddenly on Dean – his only obstacle blocking the way between him and Sam, who was in desperate need of punishment.

"Get out of the way Dean. You can't coddle him forever."

Dean glared right back. "I'm not coddling him. I'm protecting him. I'm saving him."

"Well you're doing a pretty crummy job at it then." And with that, John grabbed his oldest son by the front of his shirt, shoving the boy against the wall and slamming his head backwards into the wood several times before throwing the young man to the floor in one swift movement.

Dean could barely see through the blinding pain, but that didn't stop him from trying to protect both Sam and himself. He reached out blindly in the direction he thought that his father was, grabbing a hold of one of the man's legs and latched himself upon John's leg firmly, bringing the drunken older man crashing to the ground.

Unfortunately, John was able to get out of his son's grip and immediately administered a strong kick right to the face and then another one to the boy's ribcage, before bringing his boot down on the younger man's head once again, administering the final knock out blow.

He then turned to face the youngest.

"Now Sam, wouldn'cha say you've been a very naughty boy?" The slurred question was rhetorical, and they both knew it, but John still got upset with the kid's lack of response. The teen hadn't said one word since he'd walked through that door!

"What? You think you're too good to talk to me? Just because you got accepted to Stanford, all of a sudden you're too good for us? Is that how it is?" John had backed Sam into a corner, with a strong grip on his son's shirt and his body blocking all escape routes that the boy might use.

Sam still didn't respond. Damn it, this kid was starting to piss John off with his silence! He easily lifted his hand and backhanded the boy firmly.

Sam stifled a yelp of pain as his father slapped his hard. He felt blood start to trickle down his face from a busted lip. He'd certainly have a nice bruise that would be fun to explain in school tomorrow.

"Listen to me, you little fuck," John was all up in his face now. He was really drunk, but not drunk enough to just leave his son alone or pass out on the living room floor. Too bad. "You're not going to some god damn college, you're going to stay here and help me and help you're brother. There is no way in fuck's name that you're going to fucking abandon us for some 'higher education' shit!"

Sam was scared of his father – of course he was, he'd suffered at this man's hand for 18 years! – But at the moment, his anger was close to passing that fear.

"You're not going."

"Yes I am!" John's eyes grew wide. Sam had never talked back to this openly before. Dean had, sure, but mainly to use as a distraction. But Sam had never out right defied him.

"Maybe you didn't hear me right. You're NOT GOING." John glared at Sam, challenging him to try to defy him again.

Sam pushed back his fear and natural instincts he'd grown into over the years while dealing with this man. He was not going to let John take this one away from him. Not a chance.

"I turn 18 in 2 months. There is no way you can stop me. I AM going, Dad."

John didn't even open his mouth to argue this time; he let his fist do the talking. He had his 17-year-old son trapped against the wall with no escape and a mountain of fury the size of Mt. Everest.

He felt some of the boy's ribs give way as he punched him a few too many times in the chest, which had the teen gasping for air, but John could honestly say that he didn't give a fuck at the moment. All he could think about was his son's insolence and how he deserved to be punished. That's it. This was exactly what he deserved; Sam had brought this upon himself.

Finally, John felt himself grow weary, and though he felt that Sam's punishment was not yet over, decided that he could wait until after John took a nap. The oldest Winchester stumbled over to the couch and plopped down on it, closing his eyes. He could hear his son struggling to stand, but simply tuned him out and went straight to sleep.

Sam's breaths were shallow and his ribs protested with each breath he took. He closed his eyes and wished for it all to go away. He wanted it all to go away so bad that this desire nearly brought him to tears. Not long after John fell asleep on the couch – or maybe it was long? Sam had no idea of time passage, as he didn't move from his spot in the corner – Dean regained consciousness, immediately bringing his hand up to his pounding head that was caked with dry blood.

Dean slowly scanned the room, not moving from his spot on the floor; not really wanting to move, as his muscles were sore and his body was bruised from the fight with this father. God, he was fucking 22 years old! He shouldn't have to deal with this shit!

He soon caught sight of his little brother, curled up in a corner of the room, a complete broken mess, and only semi-conscious. He looked around for John, but guessed he was either on the couch, which was out of his view, or in his room.

Dean stifled a groan of pain as he pulled himself up off the floor. He walked over to his kid brother.

"Sam. Sam, can you hear me?" He whispered. If his father was on the couch, he didn't want to risk the chance of waking the older man up.

Sam eyelids opened slightly. "Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy, it's me. How are you doing?"

"Dean, I don't think I can get up…"

That had Dean worried. John rarely beat them so badly that one of them required a hospital visit, but Dean was thinking that Sam might need it this time. His ribs looked kind of caved in and he was sure that at least a few of them were broken, not to mention that the broken ribs might've done some internal damage.

He gently scooped his brother into his arms, letting a few curses out as he stumbled under his brother's entire body weight.

Now came the biggest challenge: Getting Sam al the way down the stairs and into the car, without too many questions from the neighbors.

Thank God it was 12am, or he would have never made it without getting stopped. He nearly ran into the elderly man who lived below them, except Dean heard the old man's cackle just before he rushed down the steps, and waited a few moments while the old man and some old lady made it into the apartment. Dean didn't even want to think of what they were doing in there: old people sex…. Ew!

He raced down the feeder road at 90 mph, not even bothering to get on the freeway – that would only take more time. Sammy had already lost all consciousness by the time they reached the hospital, and Dean carried the younger man into the ER by himself.

The young man holding the teenager in his arms caused quite a commotion in the ER. There stood a man, who was in pretty bad shape himself, with a big bruise on his face and dry blood layering his head, but the youngster that he carried in his arms was even worse: a busted lip, a bruise on the face, dried blood trickling down from his mouth, a crushed chest cavity, his right arm twisted at an odd angle, and shallow breathing.

All the nurses immediately jumped into action, calling doctors to the front immediately to take care of these two. Dean didn't want to go with the doctors, but they insisted at least looking at him and as soon as he was done he could see Sam. Seeing as he was actually conscious, he had been given some forms to fill out while he was waiting on his own results. He signed himself down as Sam's legal guardian and put his cell phone number where it asked for a home phone. He didn't want them contacting John at all.

A while later, the doctors came back with his results and informed him that he had a concussion from that "nasty blow to the head" and promised to let him see Sam as soon as he told them what had happened.

Dean was a little pissed that they suddenly pulled a loop on him, because they told him that they'd let him see Sam as soon as they checked him out first, and now they were still keeping his brother away.

"We were just out for a stroll. We had headed out around 8pm. Anyway, we ran into this gang, and I don't know, I guess they wanted to pick a fight. One of the big guys knocked me out right away. I really don't know how long I was out for, but when I woke up, Sammy was pretty beaten, and his breathing was really shallow, so I brought him here as fast as I could."

It was kind of the truth. Except the 'gang' was really his dad….

"Can I see my brother now?"

The doctor nodded and led Dean to Sam's room.

"This is Dean Winchester. The kid's brother." The nurse that brought Dean there informed Sam's doctor.

"Hello Mr. Winchester. I'm Dr. Chambers. I understand you have full custody of your brother?" The doctor was a woman; a little old for Dean's taste - maybe in her thirties - with dark brown hair tied back in a bun and green smocks.

"Yes ma'am. Is he okay?"

"Well, you're brother took some serious blows to the chest and to the head. He has a concussion, and 3 of his ribs have been broken. One of his ribs penetrated his right lung, so he has some internal damage and we will have to intubate him. We're going to move him up to the ICU in a few minutes and you can stay with him in his room up there. We're going to keep him overnight, and usually we don't allow family members to stay past visiting hours, we're going to let you stay here since Samuel here was admitted so late tonight."

Dean sat there in shock for a few moments before swallowing hard, and nodding. They were going to intubate Sammy? The very thought of a machine breathing for Sam made him sick.

"Damn you John." He cursed under his breath and vowed to one day get his revenge on his father.


End file.
